


Dance to This

by Zzzara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Based On a Troye Sivan Song, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Consensual Sex, Consent, Dance to This Troye Sivan, Dance to this, Dancing, Drarry, Emotions, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Healer Draco Malfoy, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Second Person, Reluctant friends to lovers, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Top Harry Potter, Troye Sivan References, Troye Sivan Song inspired, all Troye's songs are Drarry AF, emotional tension, troye sivan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 12:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15024776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zzzara/pseuds/Zzzara
Summary: Under the kitchen lightsYou still look like dynamiteAnd I wanna end up on youOh, don't need no place to goJust put on the radioYou know what I wanna doWe can just dance to this…He doesn’t look at you. But he is here, he is your guest, and he put the music on.





	Dance to This

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the mood of this little story are borrowed from Troye Sivan's song "Dance to This", which has also been an inspiration for writing this fic [Troye is my never ceasing inspiration and I strongly recommend to listen to the song before reading this fic - it would give you a feeling of immersion :) ].
> 
> *The flashbacks in this story are written in italics.
> 
> English is not my native language and I don't have a beta, so forgive me all the mistakes.
> 
> [Disclaimer: all characters belong to J.K. Rowling; here I don't make any profit whatsoever; I write for my own entertainment.]

 

**Dance to This**

_Under the kitchen lights_

_You still look like dynamite_

_And I wanna end up on you_

_Oh, don't need no place to go_

_Just put on the radio_

_You know what I wanna do_

_We can just dance to this…_

_[Troye Sivan ft. Ariana Grande, ‘Dance to this’]_

Pansy leans in to peck you on the cheek, stumbling forward. You catch her by the elbow. Theo's arm steadies her around the waist. He is no less drunk than she is, though. Throwing her head back, Pansy laughs as he pulls her into the Floo. They are the last to leave.

The last _except for..._ Well.

Tugging at your lower lip with your fingers, you watch your friends disappear in a flash of green and turn to survey the after party mess of your living-room: disarray of empty wine bottles, glasses, dishes at the long table along the wall; cushions are scattered across the floor; the banner _'2010'_ hangs limply from the ceiling. You rise on your tiptoes and reach up to tug the banner down. The room is stuffy and you open the window on your way out, letting the frosty night air in. The clock on the wall indicates 2:20 in the morning. All your guests have left for a nightclub and you haven't. _Not when..._

You stop in the hallway. Beneath the trace of alcohol dizziness your stomach is in knots. You run a hand through your hair pulling it back from your forehead and exhale.

_Now what?_

Well, it doesn't have to mean anything, does it?

Your gaze catches your reflection in the mirror. You ruffle your hair with both hands, allowing the longer strands from the top fall across your forehead, and then smooth them back again. Looking your reflection in the face with narrowed eyes, you lift your chin up and pout.

_What are you doing?_

You look like an idiot.

A soft music reaches your ears, languid melody swimming into the hallway. The radio. _Right. Get a grip._

You look in the mirror, arranging your features and finally head through the door.

Your kitchen is vast and looks pristine compared to the state of the living-room.

He is there - at the island in the middle - fiddling with the stem of his wine glass. He doesn’t look at you. But he is here, he is your guest, and he put the music on. You look at his profile: his prominent nose, his black hair in the stark contrast to the pale face. Taking his glasses off, he wipes them with the hem of his T-shirt.

You know very well that without glasses those bright eyes are almost blind, that’s how poor his eyesight is. You performed the diagnosis yourself. There are no spells known to fix it, and he contemplates the idea of Muggle surgery. Protectiveness surges through you at this thought, _the desire to..._

He puts the glasses back on and looks up meeting your eyes. You feel naked. You are afraid that this is not what it seems, that you are making it all up, built on your wishful thinking, that he knows what you think and he knows you are reading this wrong. You realise that you still stand in the doorway, music filling the space between you two. The very sound of it is the essence of your being at the moment: longing, uncertainty, desire. You are supposed to say something _\- anything -_ but...

He smiles - a knowing little smile - and looks away... And you make up your mind (or rather your lowered inhibitions do). You still might regret it.

You take a step forward, then another and one more again and again, until you stop right in front of him.

He looks up.

They say his eyes are green but they are not. Not quite.

 

_{You remember when you looked into them for the first time. You were running diagnostic spells over his prone body in the hospital bed. You'd seen him in person for the first time in years and hardly ever paid him much thought. But when they brought him in, in the middle of your night shift in the Curse Damage, something twisted in your guts at the thought of him dead, of the wrongness of it. Habitual calmness was already settling over your mind, leaving no place for anything but focus and professional attitude. You set for diagnostic spells, indicating severe magical and physical injuries that shone bright red in the air over his head and chest. When you placed your palm at the side of his face, turning it to have a better view of his forehead under the spell, he opened his eyes and looked at you - his gaze bright jade -  you started. You'd never seen his eyes so close before. In that state he shouldn't have been able to do that- and yet... rules did never apply to him. Trying to prop himself up on the elbows, he squinted. You pressed his shoulders down to the bed._

_"Lay still," you said._

_"Are you?.." Peering into your face, his eyes narrowed. That was when you realised he couldn’t properly see you._

_"I am your Healer. You are in St.Mungo's," you said. You cast a spell over his eyes expecting to find an injury, but it indicated nothing immediate._

_"...my glasses," he mumbled and fainted._

_This was almost three years ago to this day.}_

 

You offer your hand and he takes it, standing up. You pull, and he steps into your arms, his other hand trailing up your side. You are not dancing but barely swaying in place, music is swimming around you. Pressing your palm between his shoulder blades, you touch your head to his, feeling the ridge of his glasses against your temple. He pulls back, looking at you, and then takes the glasses off. Putting them on the countertop, he closes his eyes, resting his forehead against yours. And you are drunk on being allowed this closeness, on the thought that he wants this, too. His hands travel over your back - up and down with insistent pressure. You inhale his familiar scent, and your pulse is thudding. There is certainty in you. You tighten your grip around his waist and duck your head, nudging his face up. With his eyes still closed, he offers his lips and you claim them.

 

_{That night Weasley barged in with Granger in tow, followed by a dark-haired man whose face looked vaguely familiar._

_"Malfoy?!"_

_"Weasley."_

_Weasley had changed in almost a decade you hadn't seen him. He was sporting a short beard, his burly frame and posture radiated confidence that had nothing to do with that gangly teenager you remembered._

_"I am his Healer,” you said. You asked them to leave for the waiting room and Weasley tried to argue, but when the man asked: “How bad is he?” and you replied: “Bad enough”, Granger had put her hand on Weasley’s shoulder, pulling him to the door. You preferred not to tell them just yet that his condition was almost lethal._

_You summoned your assistant and set to work. You healed punctured lungs and broken ribs and concussion which were the easiest part. The magical part of it however... It took you four hours to finally stabilise his magic, untwine the strands of a dark curse from his magical core and put him into the potions’ induced stasis under the monitoring spells._   _When you emerged to the waiting area, completely drained, Granger sprang from the sofa, dislodging Weasley’s head from her shoulder. But the dark-haired man was first before you. In the pale morning light his face looked pinched._

_“Can I see him?” He asked._

_“He is under the stasis until tomorrow... but... are you a relative or..?” You asked._

_“Oh, sorry. Mark Springfield, I am his... – partner.”_

_At first the word ‘partner’ didn’t ring the bell, because you automatically assumed the Auror partner. But Springfield, unlike Weasley, wasn’t wearing a uniform and... Oh. That was unexpected. You had never thought of Potter to be anything but straight. Well, that was never in the papers. Unlike Springfield, whose face appeared in the National Quidditch League news regularly enough for you to remember him._

_“I see,” you said, “follow me. But only for a few minutes.”_

_Once in the room, Springfield kneeled by the bed, took Potter’s limp hand and kissed it. You averted your eyes and shut the door behind you, giving them privacy._

_Springfield visited every day and you found him to be a decent sort. He and Potter seemed to be really committed to whatever it was between them. Once during those three weeks he’d been recovering in your ward, you walked in on them kissing by the window. Before they noticed, you hastily you backed off. You felt uncomfortable and... – envious, perhaps? Yes, you were lonely._

_You began to speak to each other. At his questions you reluctantly told him that you’d left for France in 2000, as soon as your community service had been fulfilled; you entered medical studies – both Muggle and magical – and in five years had received your Healer degree with specialisation in Curse Damage; for two years you lived and worked in Paris, until a vacancy in St.Mungo’s had been opened and you decided why not and applied. You’d been working there for a few months and almost no one knew that you returned to England. He told you that he’d been in Aurors for 9 years – went straight into training after the war.}_

 

His lips are firm and demanding, you knew he would be like this. He catches your lower lip between, biting down, and you hiss. His mouth tastes of alcohol and blood. He pulls back to look at you. You lick your lower lip and he mirrors the movement with his tongue. You slide your fingers into his hair and pull, tilting his chin up, bringing your mouth under his jaw and bite. He jerks. You lick the skin, soothing the sore spot. His hand in your hair clenches into the fist, sharp tug sending prickling pain through your scalp. You dig your nails into his lower back under the T-shirt, worrying the skin, making him hiss. It has always been like this: sharp, intense and never gentle, no matter what was going on between you two.

 

_{Once released from the Curse Damage, he came to say goodbye._

_"Thank you for saving my life," he said, offering his hand. You took it, shaking it briefly. Your Life Debt was fulfilled, you thought but said nothing. At that moment Springfield stopped in the doorway raising his hand in greeting._

_"And... look..." Lowering his voice, Potter shot a glance in Springfield's direction. "I'd appreciate if..." He gave you a meaningful look. "If nothing about me and Mark appeared in the papers, because we-"_

_You cut him off. "You know what? Fuck you, Potter!" You brushed past him and out of the room, shoving Springfield with your shoulder on the way.}_

 

You grip the hem of his T-shirt, tugging it up, pulling it over his head, and he raises his arms to help you. You run your hands up his sides, relishing the feeling of hot skin under your palms. You vaguely indicate that a song playing now is not the one that had started this. His fingers fumble with the buttons of your dress shirt. They are impatient and clumsy, and you still his hands, tugging the shirttails out of your trousers and undoing the buttons. He slides the shirt down your shoulders and it catches at the elbows, because your sleeves are rolled up. Launching forward, he doesn't seem to care, latching his lips to the base of your throat. Your stumble backwards, pressing your arse against the counter, and lean back on your hands, baring your neck. This is so new between you two and somehow not new at all; this is the first time you are doing it. Finally. Yes, this is exactly how you imagined it would be with him.

 

 _{Next time you saw him in a month - he found you out after his monthly Auror check-up. You weren't glad to see him, not at all._   _He came to apologise. He was a dick and fucked up, he said, and he was sorry._

_"Leave it, Potter," you said. You weren't mad at him or anything; everything felt just flat. You didn't want his apologies either and told him so._

_Later that week you bumped into him and Springfield in a Muggle pub. You talked a bit and it was civil. But you didn't want to sit there watching as Springfield took his hand; you left soon._

_Next time in a while, you met accidentally in a gay-club. He was alone and you were not. Peter's hot tongue was doing wonders under your ear. Leaning against the bar, you turned your head to the side to give him better access… and caught Potter watching you over the crowd. He turned hastily away._   _Later on the dance floor he was with a stranger, who was gripping him enthusiastically by the hips, moving to the beat of music. No Springfield anymore, it seemed.}_

 

You feel his finger dip beneath the band of your trousers and into the crease of your arse. You stand upright and unbuckling your belt. Impatiently he pushes your trousers down your hips, taking handfuls of your arse-cheeks with both palms, squeezing, kneading and spreading the flesh beneath the cotton of your pants. You reach for his belt, but your shirt around the elbows is straining you. You tug the sleeve down, trying to wrench your hand free. He releases your arse, grabbing your wrist, jerking roughly at the sleeve, pulling it down and off, then another. The shirt lands on the floor and your hands are free. You hook your fingers over the buckle of his jeans and pull, bringing his hips closer. You wrench at the belt and he helps to pull it open with his fingers. The sound of your breathing is loud over a soft music. In one motion you shove his jeans and pants down his thighs, and his cock bobs in front of you.

 

_{One day you were exiting the hospital canteen with a large coffee paper cup in hand and bumped into Weasley. Hot liquid splashed all over the chest of his Auror uniform and he yelped._

_"Oh, shit... sorry, Weasley, I'm sorry." You cringed. "Come on, I'll heal it - just...not here, follow me.”_

_Only then you realised that Potter was right behind. You lead them into your office in the Curse Damage and indicated at the couch: "Undress and sit down."_

_Weasley peeled the uniform off, revealing angry red burns across his pale freckled chest. He perched awkwardly on the couch. Potter remained by the door. You performed one spell after another watching as the redness receded, marks disappearing altogether._

_"Good?" You asked._

_"Yes, fine," he said._

_"You may dress." You turned away and looked at Potter but said nothing. He didn't elaborate either._

_"Er...thank you, Malfoy." Weasley buttoned the shirt up. You nodded._   _He offered his hand. When you took it, his handshake was firm. At that moment you knew something had shifted between you two, changed. He thought of you differently - but not for healing the burn – rather for not letting Potter die a few months ago.}_

 

You take his cock, circling your thumb over the tip. Hissing, he presses into your hand and then reaches behind you to take his glasses from the countertop and put them on. Now, seeing you properly, his smile turns feral. He brings his palms to your chest, sliding them down, down, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your boxers, shoving them around your thighs. Your cock springs free. He kneels, tugging the pants along with the trousers down to your ankles. He unlaces your shoes and takes them off; your socks follow, and he finally frees your legs from clothes. His hands travel up your thighs until they stop at the hips, and he takes the head of your cock in his mouth.

 

_{That night at the club you were alone, having just broken up with Peter. You were restless and in a foul mood, coming to the club for nothing better to do._

_He approached you at the bar and dropped down at the nearest stool._

_"Do you mind?" He asked._

_You shrugged._

_He offered to buy you a drink, and you said why not._   _Sometime later you watched in fascination as his tongue swept salt off the back of his hand, how his throat bobbed when he swallowed a shot of tequila; then he would bite into a lemon slice, wince and say: "Your turn." And you repeated the performance. Over and over again._

_You were sitting with your chin propped on your hand, feeling dizzy and hot all over. The hollow at the base of Potter's throat looked fascinating. Lazily you contemplated the thought of pouring salt in there and licking it out with your tongue. His glasses slid down his nose and you reached out to adjust them._

_"I wonder..." He grinned, leaning in even closer; you felt his breath on your lips. Head swimming, you looked into his eyes._

_"What?" You whispered._

_You were so dizzy and relaxed that at first you didn’t pay attention to the faintest brush against your mind, mistaking it for something else. But then it repeated: tentative probing, almost undetectable for those who don't know the signs. Wrenching your gaze from his, you bolted out and sprang on your feet._

_"You bastard!"_

_Pouring another shot, he didn’t look at you._

_How?.. You never imagined Potter to be adept at Legilimency. People of his nature usually don't have a necessary mindset for such things. He proved you wrong. He'd been an Auror for a decade, after all._   _Shaken, you strode to the loo. You washed your face and ran your wet hands through your hair, smoothing it back, looking in the mirror. Shit. No doubt he had gathered some of your last thoughts._

_When later on the dance floor someone's hands slid around your hips, pressing your back flush to their hot body, you wrenched free and whirled around. You disliked it when strangers groped you from behind, no matter how drunk you might be. Potter. The bastard grinned, tugging at your belt loop to pull you closer._

_"What the fuck, Potter?!" You shoved him in the chest. He stumbled. You brushed past him, out of the dancing area and to the exit._

_He'd caught up with you on the street. "Malfoy!" He grabbed your arm. "What's the matter?"_

_You wrenched free and swayed your arm, delivering the blow right into his chin. Wide-eyed in shock, he stumbled backwards, covering his mouth._

_"Get the fuck away from me! Who the hell do you think you are, rummaging inside my head?!"_

_"I..." Blood was dripping down his chin, he wiped it, looking down at his palm; it appeared again: dark at the torn flesh of his lip._

_"Or are you taking me for an idiot? Getting me drunk, thinking I wouldn't recognise the thing? Just... fuck off!"_

_You stormed down the street, leaving him behind.}_

 

His mouth slides down onto your cock and sucks. You grip his hair, thrusting shallowly. He chokes but doesn't withdraw. His hand reaches around into the crease of your arse, finger dipping inside until it touches the rim, giving it a stroke. With a pop he releases your cock, looking up at you in question.

The answer is _yes_. Of course it is. And you nod, hopping up onto the counter, leaning back on your hands, spreading your legs. He stands up to step between your thighs. Sliding his palm under your knee, lifting it up, placing your heel at the countertop. He is still in his jeans, he shoves them further down. Fingers reach under your balls and you feel a cold tingling touch of cleaning and slickening spells inside you.

 

_{The stupid Stag sprang on you when you were performing monitoring spells on a patient. Your focus breaking, you jumped, cursing under your breath,_

_"Hey, Malfoy. Look... I am sorry. We should talk. Contact me whenever you are free to..."_

_"Oh, fuck off, you!" You cursed, fussing over the unconscious patient, not listening to the animal's rumbling. What a ridiculous Patronus anyway. You always found deer to be over-pretentious dumb animals and too full of themselves._

_Potter found you anyway in the canteen during the lunch-break. He just placed his tray at your table, dropping down in the seat opposite you. His lower lip was swollen with a purple bruise. You were glad._

_"What are you doing here, Potter?" You snapped. "You are in the Aurors, not Healers."_

_"We need to talk."_

_"No, we don't."_

_"I'm sorry about yesterday. I just...was drunk and got carried away."_

_"So carried away that, violating my mind, my thoughts, you decided to just go for it, using them against me straight away."_

_"I just thought..."_

_"You just thought of taking advantage, unaware that I had detected you pried inside my head."_

_He doesn't find what to say which only proves you right._

_"I don't like you, Potter. Whatever you may think. Maybe last night, being drunk, I was not opposed to the idea of fucking you, but it doesn't mean anything. So you can just fuck off."_

_It is a lie, but not entirely. You liked him well enough last night, and it wasn't only about sex. Until he pulled off his idiotic prank. Now, you are not so sure._

_You left him at the table.}_

 

Throwing your head back, you clench your teeth, breathing deeply. It's been a while, and the intrusion of his cock hurts. But he is careful, waiting, not going hard on you. You adjust to the feeling, burning sensation dulling down. You open your eyes. Watching your face, he braces himself against the counter. You nod, and he slides further inside. You put the palm on his chest to still his movement. At his questioning look you wrap your leg around his arse and nod again, and he begins moving, the burn inside you transforming into something else.

 

_{You met again in a half a year since that row. You met him in the Curse Damage, or rather his unconscious body in a hospital bed._

_This time nothing too bad. He'd been released the next day. You spoke civilly and shook hands. And when he invited you for a drink, you said why not. Neither of you mentioned your last night out together, and it was fun. In the end he asked if it would be okay if you met next week. It was okay. Since then you had a standing arrangement for Saturday night out._   _You didn't talk much of important stuff - just having a good time after a stressful week. Mingling, dancing - like friends. Bros. Pals. If he liked you the way you were beginning to like him, it was impossible to tell._

_You always tried to catch up with your other friends at weekends: Pansy, Theo and Blaise. But everyone knew that Saturday nights were Potter's._

_You began attending Quidditch together. He always had the best tickets from Springfield. However, he never outright mentioned the man to you._

_Eventually he took a habit of dropping by to say hello every time after his monthly Auror check-up in St.Mungo's._

_Eventually you took a habit of always finding the opportunity to be his appointed Healer in Curse Damage whenever he was being brought injured from a mission.}_

 

He angles his hips just so, providing a perfect slide against your prostate. Your pleasure is building with each stroke. You grip your cock. He looms over you, hips gathering up speed, and then he suddenly falters, gasping. You think he is coming but... he clutches at his left side, shifting his weight above you, and it is suddenly obvious that, though without any visible mark, his wound still pains him.

 

_{When Weasley's terrier-Patronus appeared in your bedroom in the middle of the night two weeks ago, you knew - even before it uttered a word._

_"Malfoy! Harry..." Said Weasley's voice, and you were already throwing a shirt on, fastening the belt of your trousers._

_You Apparated straight into the Ward._

_He was bad. Very bad. Not as bad though as the first time you had him in your care._

_His ribs were a mess... They would have to heal partly on their own after you'd done your best._

_With a start, you woke up in the armchair by his bed, dropping your head in your sleep. A hand squeezed your fingers and you looked up. He was awake, he was pale as Death, but he was alive and smiling at you. You took his hand in both yours, pressing it to your chest.}_

 

Your orgasm mounting, you open your eyes. He is looking down at you, shoulders tense, tendons of his neck standing out in stark cords under the skin. You feel the first tingles begin in your very core - _this is it_ \- you welcome them, giving yourself to pleasure as it bursts inside and you cry out. Your back arches, body meeting his thrusts, and your come splashes hot over your stomach. He throws his head back, mouth falling open and shudders, coming inside you. You watch the rippling of lean muscles under the skin of his chest, see how his neck strains, feel the painful grip of his hand at your thigh. Breathing heavily, he collapses on top of you, pressing his face into your chest. You wrap your hands around his head, holding him there.

 

_{He is quitting the Aurors, he’d told you a few days ago; you were glad and immensely relieved; you didn't tell him. He said he had a plan as to his future occupation but didn't elaborate further. No matter what - it is a good thing._

_Tonight at the party your friends raised their glasses to his new beginnings._

_He glanced at you briefly, thinking that you weren't looking, but you caught him all the same._

_For three years you danced around each other, and you thought maybe tonight…_

_You worried your lip between your fingers, watching your friends disappear in the green flames. Then walked out to the hallway, debating with yourself. When the music began and you entered the kitchen, seeing him there... you had made up your mind. If nothing, you would still have a dance.}_

 

Bright morning light spills into your bedroom. 10.35 - the clock on the wall indicates. There is a heavy arm thrown over your chest, warm breath against your neck. You turn your head to look. Hogging the blanket, Harry lies on his stomach. Gingerly your turn to your side, trying not to wake him. In vain. His eye peers up at you from under the black fringe, small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Happy New Year,” he says, tightening his arm around you, snuggling even deeper into your warmth.

And you are happy.

***** The End *****

**_[[Troye Sivan feat. Ariana Grande, 'Dance to This']](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhxhNIQBKJI) _ **

_Young ambition_

_Say we'll go slow, but we never do_

_Premonition_

_See me spending every night with You_

_Oh, under the kitchen light_

_You still look like dynamite_

_And I wanna end up on you_

_Oh, we don't need a place to go_

_Just put on the radio_

_You know what I wanna do_

 

_We can just dance to this_

_Don't take much to start me_

_We can just dance to this_

_Push up on my body_

_You know, we've already seen all of the parties_

_We can just dance to this_

_We can just, we can just_

_Dance to this_

_Dance to this_

_We can just dance to this_

 

_Dear beloved_

_Bring those 501s a bit closer, bit closer_

_And dear my lover_

_Do that thing we never do sober, sober_

_Under the kitchen light_

_You still look dynamite_

_And I wanna end up on you_

_Oh, we don't need a place to go_

_Just put on the radio_

_You know what I wanna do_

 

_We can just dance to this_

_Don't take much to start me_

_We can just dance to this_

_Push up on my body_

_You know, we've already seen all of the parties_

_We can just dance to this_

_We can just dance to this_

_Dance to this_

_Dance to this_

_We can just dance to this_

 

_I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night_

_I just wanna take that ride_

_I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night_

_I just wanna take that ride_

 

_We can just dance to this_

_Don't take much to start me_

_We can just dance to this_

_Push up on my body_

_You know, we've already seen all of the parties_

_We can just dance to this_

_We can just..._

_We can just dance to this_

_Don't take much to start me_

_We can just dance to this_

_Push up on my body_

_You know, we've already seen all of the parties_

_We can just dance to this_

_We can just, we can just_

_Dance to this_

 

_Dance to this, love_

_Dance to this_

_We can just... dance to this_

_Dance to this, dance to this_

_We can just dance to this_

_I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night_

_I just wanna take that ride_

_I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night_

_I just wanna take that ride_

_I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night_

_I just wanna take that ride_

_I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night_

_I just wanna take that ride_

_We can just... dance to this_

_I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night..._

_***_

**I am on Tumblr:**

** [my main blog [oronka]](https://oronka.tumblr.com) **

**[my Drarry blog [Big Draco Energy]](https://big-draco-energy.tumblr.com) **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your opinions with me in the comments below if you want :)  
> Tell me how you came across this fic, I'm really interested to know!


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